


Wingman

by sahiya



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, POV James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Protective Tony Stark, Sick Peter Parker, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 13:10:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18550441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/pseuds/sahiya
Summary: Holy shit, Rhodey thought.Tony’s adad.





	Wingman

**Author's Note:**

> This is pretty standalone but it would work as a prequel to "Tensile Strength." Post-Homecoming, pre-Infinity War. 
> 
> Thanks for Fuzzyboo for typo-patrol and helping me figure out what the issue was with the beginning.

“So how much have you told the kid about _your_ MIT days?” Rhodey asked. He threw a bit of popcorn in the air and caught it in his mouth. 

“You mean _our_ MIT days?” Tony returned. “You were there, too, honeybear. Three years older and no wiser, if I recall.”

Rhodey made a face but decided he couldn’t really argue the point. “Whatever. I take it you haven’t told him any of the good stuff. Guess that’ll be my job. So when do I get to meet him?”

“Hmm, I dunno, how about a week from never?”

“Aww, what’re you afraid of? Think I’ll give him ideas?”

“Not really,” Tony said. He took a handful of popcorn from the bowl. “He’s such a good kid. Nothing like I was. He should be mad at the world, for all the shit it’s given him, but he’s not. No idea why he latched onto _me_ of all people.”

Tony looked sad now, which had not been Rhodey’s intention. Quite the opposite, in fact. He threw a piece of popcorn at Tony. Tony batted it out of the air. 

“No moping,” Rhodey told him. “I’ve got twelve hours left of a leave that was only thirty-six hours long to begin with, and you are not going to spend it moping. Who knows how long it’ll be before we get to hang out again?”

“No, you’re right,” Tony said, shaking his head. He shoved himself off the couch. “Whiskey and _Ocean’s Eleven_?”

“ _Ocean’s Eleven_ ,” Rhodey agreed. “And whiskey, sure, but nothing too peaty, you know I can’t handle that shit.”

“No taste,” Tony grumbled, even as he grabbed two different bottles and a couple of tumblers. Rhodey had to report back to base at 0700 the next morning, so he couldn’t really tie one on, but it wasn’t like Tony was partying much these days, either. He’d gone all _respectable._

They were both two glasses in and arguing idly about whether anything in the movie was actually feasible when the movie suddenly paused. “Boss,” FRIDAY said, “sorry to interrupt, but I’m receiving a health alert from Peter’s biometrics tracker.”

Tony sat up, every trace of languid relaxation gone instantly. “What happened? Is he hurt? He told me last night that he wasn’t going out tonight, he’s got a calc test in the morning.”

“He isn’t injured,” FRIDAY replied, “but he appears to be ill.” A bunch of numbers popped up on the screen. It took Rhodey’s whiskey-slowed brain a second or two to realize what he was looking at. 103.1 must’ve been the kid’s temperature–– _yikes_. His pulse rate was awfully fast at about 110. FRIDAY had noted that he was dehydrated and had only slept about three hours out of the last twenty-four. 

Tony swore. “Is he at home?”

“Yes, boss.”

“Call him.”

The phone rang five times and went to voicemail. A second call did the same. Tony was already on his feet as he asked FRIDAY to try and call the kid’s aunt. No answer there, either. "I have to go check on him,” Tony told Rhodey, heading toward the launch pad. 

“Of course,” Rhodey said, following him. “Are we taking the suits?”

“Oh,” Tony said, swinging around to look at him. He kept walking, just backwards. “You don’t have to come.”

“Eh, what am I going to do, just hang out here by myself? It’s not like I’ll be in the way. I’m trained as a field medic. I can run an IV line like a champ.”

Tony frowned. “I really hope it doesn’t come to that. FRI, is the first aid kit in my suit fully stocked?”

“Of course, boss.” 

“Great.” Tony leapt lightly up onto the launch pad, and Rhodey followed, somewhat less lightly. Tony tapped the nanobot casing and the suit flowed out from it. Rhodey had refused to let Tony do anything involving surgery on him, but Tony had come up with a solution that was almost as elegant: his suit was contained in his leg braces, which ran on the same nano technology. 

Rhodey was only a couple seconds behind Tony as he took off into the chilly New York night. It would’ve taken them forty minutes on the subway and at least that long by car depending on traffic, but it was only about a five minute flight to Long Island City. Tony landed on a roof and the suit retracted. Rhodey followed. “Do this a lot?” he asked. 

“Not that often, I try to be a little more stealthy and just pick the kid up in the Jag,” Tony said, nudging the rooftop door open. Rhodey followed behind him as they jogged down two flights of stairs to the fourth floor. The building was slightly shabby in a familiar, pre-war, not-yet-renovated kind of way. The paint job was about a year past its prime, and the carpet was stained. It was the sort of building Rhodey was familiar with from his childhood, before he got a ROTC scholarship to MIT and fate stuck him in the same room as Tony Stark.

The door to 4E was unremarkable, but then Tony touched the doorknob and it emitted a soft beep before letting him enter. “Fingerprint activated,” he muttered at Rhodey’s raised eyebrow. “Didn’t want it to look different from any of the others, but damned if I’m going to let them live here unprotected.”

He opened the door. “Peter?” Tony called. No answer, but there was a thump from deeper inside the apartment. Tony followed it, and Rhodey followed Tony through a cluttered living room and past a small kitchen. 

“Kid?” Tony said, nudging open a door. Rhodey peered past Tony’s shoulder to see that it was clearly a teenage boy’s bedroom––a nerdy one, judging by the _Star Trek_ decor––and that the teenage boy it belonged to was sitting on the floor by the bed in a tangle of sheets, looking flushed and disoriented and bewildered to see Tony there. 

“Tony?” the kid muttered. “What’re you doing here?”

“FRIDAY told me you were sick,” Tony said, crouching down beside him. 

Peter’s eyes flicked up to him. “Who’s––wait...”

“This is Rhodey,” Tony said, reaching out to brush Peter’s hair out of his face in a gesture that was so carelessly parental, Rhodey could hardly believe it. “Rhodey, this is Peter.”

“Nice to meet you, Peter,” Rhodey said. 

“Nice to meet you, too, Colonel Rhodes,” Peter said, and started trying to struggle to his feet. Tony helped him get disentangled from his sheets and then stand. He tried to shift Peter back onto the bed, but Peter wouldn’t let him, even though he was very pale and swaying slightly. “Tony’s told me lots of stuff, and I mean, you’re War Machine. You’re famous. You’re... you’re...”

“I’m what?” Rhodey asked, trying not to grin too obviously. 

“Peter?” Tony said, when Peter didn’t finish his sentence. 

Peter threw up on Rhodey’s shoes.

***

The kid wouldn’t stop apologizing. 

“I’m sorry, I’m _so sorry_ ,” he kept mumbling, over and over again, as Tony half-carried, half-dragged him into the bathroom. “I’m––” he said, and broke off, gagging, but Rhodey heard the _sorry_ all the same. 

“It’s fine, Peter,” Rhodey said, toeing out of his shoes. They weren’t ruined; the kid hadn’t had enough in him to do that much damage. He leaned in the doorframe, since the bathroom was barely big enough to hold Tony and Peter. “You want to hear about all the times Tony’s thrown up on me? I think I’d have to come up with some sort of organizational schema for them, there are so many.”

“Aww, Rhodey, what would I do without you?” Tony said wryly. He knelt next to Peter in the bathroom, rubbing his back. “Jesus, kid, you are burning up. Where’s May?”

“Rochester,” Peter said miserably, resting his head on his arm on the side of the toilet. 

“What the fuck’s in Rochester?”

“College friend. Getting a divorce.”

Tony frowned. “Does she know you’re sick?”

“Told her I had a cold. She never goes anywhere.” Peter swallowed audibly. “I thought I could take care of myself.”

Tony wisely didn’t say what Rhodey knew they were both thinking––that Peter clearly _hadn’t_ been able to take care of himself. “But you don’t have to,” Tony said. “You could’ve called me, you know.”

“But... but you were talking about Rhodey coming to visit for weeks. I didn’t want to ruin everything.” The kid’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m so sorry, Tony.”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Tony said, rubbing his back again. “It’s okay, Pete.”

Rhodey decided he should probably be useful. He grabbed a washcloth off the towel rack and wet it with cold water from the tap. He wrung it out and handed it to Tony. Tony wiped the back of the kid’s neck. Then he prodded Peter into sitting up and used the washcloth to wipe the tears and sweat off his face. “There you go,” Tony murmured. “How’re you feeling?”

The kid looked close to tears again. “I’m sorry.”

“How are you feeling _besides_ sorry? Which, by the way, really isn’t necessary.”

The kid swallowed. “Sick. Thirsty.”

Tony shot Rhodey a worried look before looking back at Peter. “Have you been drinking water?” 

“It won’t stay down.”

“Did you try tea?” 

Peter shook his head. “I kept getting dizzy when I stood up.” 

Tony’s frown deepened. “FRIDAY said you’ve only slept three hours out of the last twenty-four. What’s up with that? Sleeping as much as you want is just about the only good thing about being sick.”

“I don’t know.” Peter tipped forward so his forehead was resting against Tony’s shoulder. Tony wrapped his arms around him. “I kept having nightmares,” he confessed, so quietly Rhodey almost couldn’t hear it. “And, and waking up thinking I heard something. I could barely stand up, what if someone tried to get in?”

Tony sighed. “Yeah, I get it. I’m here now, okay?” He rubbed a hand up and down Peter’s back. “Close your eyes for a bit and rest while Rhodey and I make a game plan.”

“Don’t leave,” Peter mumbled. 

“I won’t,” Tony said. He pulled Peter down so he was lying with his head in Tony’s lap, curled up with his face pressed into Tony’s stomach. He looked up at Rhodey. “Okay, what do you think?”

Rhodey crouched down. “I think he might need an IV, but we can try getting fluids into him orally first. I can go get some stuff if there’s anything around here that’s open.”

“I think the bodega on the corner is 24-hours,” Tony said. “I want to stay with him. Do you mind going?”

“Of course not,” Rhodey said. “Anything else I should get while I’m there? Advil or something?”

Tony shook his head. “He burns through everything. His metabolism is at least as fast as Cap’s.”

“But no super immune system to go with it?” 

Tony shrugged. “I’ve never seen him sick before, but it’s not like there are rules about this. He doesn’t have the serum, his powers are different.”

“Right, okay. Maybe see if you can make him comfortable somewhere other than the bathroom floor?” Rhodey suggested. “Your back isn’t going to hold up forever.”

“I can try,” Tony said, looking down at him. His face softened, and he ghosted a hand over Peter’s hair, tucking a curl behind his ear. Peter’s eyelids fluttered open, and he looked up at Tony, exhausted and utterly trusting. 

_Holy shit_ , Rhodey thought. _Tony’s a_ dad.

It shouldn’t have been that much of a shock. He’d known that Tony liked the kid a lot, that he was proud of his accomplishments, that he worried about him. He’d known the kid had to be something special for Tony to conquer the ghost of dear old Howard––but knowing it and seeing it, and seeing it _reciprocated_ , were different. It wasn’t just that Tony thought of himself as Peter’s dad. Peter clearly thought of him that way, too. 

It was entirely possible that neither of them was aware of it.

“What do you say, kid?” Tony asked. “Want to try and move someplace more comfortable? Maybe change into some clean pajamas?”

“Hmph,” Peter replied, eyes closing. “Comfy here.”

Tony chuckled softly. “Well, unfortunately, Rhodey is right––my back isn’t going to put up with this forever.”

“Because you’re old?” Peter said, opening his eyes and smiling just a little. 

“Brat,” Tony said fondly. “Yes, because I’m old.”

“Would you...” Peter hesitated. 

“What, kid?”

“Would you change the sheets on my bed?” Peter asked, glancing away. “I’m sorry, you don’t––you don’t have to, it’s just I think I sweat through them like three times and they kind of smell now, even to me. But you don’t––I could––”

“Stop, Peter,” Tony said firmly, before the kid could spiral much further. “I think I can manage to change your sheets.”

“Thanks,” the kid said, eyes drifting shut again. Tony looked down at him again, that same expression of almost unbearable softness––of love, Rhodey thought, admitting to himself what he doubted Tony could––crossing his face. 

Rhodey cleared his throat. “So I’m getting ginger ale, Gatorade, crackers, soup. Anything else you want, Peter?”

Peter’s eyes cracked open. “Lemon-lime Gatorade. And raspberry Jello.”

“Seriously?” Tony said, wrinkling his nose. 

“May always makes it for me,” Peter replied, with a faint whine in his voice.

“Raspberry Jello, coming up,” Rhodey said. “I’ll be back in a bit. Text me if you think of anything else.”

The bodega was empty at this hour, just one person behind the counter and a sleepy cat dozing beside him. Rhodey loaded up on ginger ale and Gatorade in the refrigerated section, then found himself looking at the ice cream. He and Tony had basically planned on drinking and watching movies and shooting the shit until Rhodey had to leave. The drinking was out of the question, obviously, but the rest might not be, if the kid fell asleep. 

Sugar was maybe even more of an indulgence for him than alcohol these days. _Fuck it_ , Rhodey thought, and grabbed a couple of pints––one of mint chocolate chip and one of chocolate chip cookie dough. 

The cashier snorted when he saw everything that Rhodey put on the counter. “Rough night at your place?” 

“Sort of,” Rhodey said ruefully. He hesitated briefly and then added, “My friend’s kid is sick. I’m just helping out.”

“That is good of you. It’s hard when they are sick. Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Rhodey said. He took the two bags and headed back toward the apartment. 

_My friend’s kid._ Rhodey shook his head. Unbelievable. 

***

“That was fast,” Tony said, opening the door to the apartment for Rhodey. 

“Not like there’s much of a line at half-past midnight,” Rhodey said, coming through with the bags. “How’s the kid?”

“Calmer,” Tony said. “I’m almost done changing the sheets on his bed.”

“Tony, have you ever changed the sheets on a bed before?” 

“Don’t start, honeybear,” Tony said with a frown. Rhodey raised his eyebrows. Tony threw his arms up. “Does it matter whether I’ve done it before? I get the theory. It’s not rocket science––which, by the way, I actually _can_ do. Real-life rocket scientist here.”

Rhodey smirked as he set the bags on the counter. “I’m just giving you shit, Tony, I’m sure it’s fine. Here, he should have fluids as fast as possible. Take him either the ginger ale or the Gatorade.”

“Ginger ale first,” Tony decided. “You got ice cream? I don’t think he can eat that with his stomach so upset.”

“Ice cream’s not for the kid, it’s for us,” Rhodey said. He started poking through cabinets looking for a pot in which to make the Jello the kid had asked for. “I thought if he gets to sleep, maybe you and I could still hang out until I have to take off, just with mint-chip instead of whiskey.” 

“Oh,” Tony said, sounding flummoxed. “Yeah, that’s––that sounds good. Thanks for going out and getting all this stuff and helping,” he added, sighing. “I know this isn’t what you had in mind for your leave.”

Rhodey set the small pot he’d found on the stove and started measuring out water. “It’s not, but that’s okay. I don’t care what we do, I just wanted to hang out. So if this is what you’re doing”––he shrugged––“then that’s cool with me.”

“If you’re sure,” Tony said, frowning. 

“I’m sure,” Rhodey said. “Take the kid his ginger ale, I’m going to make him the raspberry Jello.”

Tony poured some ginger ale into a glass and disappeared into the bedroom. Rhodey dissolved the packet of Jello into the boiling water and gave it a few stirs. Then he poured it carefully into a Pyrex dish he’d found under the sink and stuck it in the fridge. It would take a few hours to set, but he wasn’t sure Peter would want it until later anyway. 

He grabbed a sleeve of saltines and knocked quietly at the door frame of Peter’s bedroom. “Come on in, Rhodey,” Tony called, and Rhodey ducked through. 

Tony had done just fine changing the bed, it seemed. He’d gotten Peter into fresh pajamas, too––including an MIT shirt, Rhodey noticed with some amusement––and he was sitting propped up on a small mountain of pillows. He had a damp washcloth draped over his forehead and was cradling the glass of ginger ale against his chest. Tony sat at the foot of the bed, leaning against the wall, with one of his hands resting on Peter’s blanket-covered foot. 

“Jello should be ready in a couple of hours,” Rhodey said. 

“Thanks, Colonel Rhodes,” Peter said, worn out and weak. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Rhodey shrugged. “I’m not a great cook, but Jello is well within my skill range. Here, I thought you might want to nibble on these in the meantime.” He offered the saltines. 

Peter took one, but then he just sat and looked at it warily. “Sorry again about your shoes. Not a great first impression.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Rhodey said. Tony shoved Peter’s desk chair toward him, and Rhodey sat down in it. “It was definitely dramatic. Don’t beat yourself up about it, seriously.”

Peter nodded. He nibbled carefully at the cracker. “Tony says you know. About me.”

“About the spider gig? Yep. We should train sometime,” Rhodey added. “Up at the compound, I mean. It’d be fun.”

“Really?” Peter said, glancing up at him. 

“Yeah. Don’t know when I’ll have leave again, but we’ll work something out.”

“I’m sorry about that, too,” Peter said, sounding anxious. “I tried so hard––I thought it wouldn’t be so bad, taking care of myself, and at first it was okay, but then I started getting dizzy whenever I tried to stand up, or even sit up, and I just felt worse and worse.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m really glad you guys showed up when you did. I know I should’ve called, but I just––I got caught in this spiral of thinking I couldn’t.”

“It’s okay, kid,” Tony said quietly, rubbing Peter’s foot. “Rhodey was dying to meet you anyway, you know, so this worked out.”

“You were?” Peter said, glancing at Rhodey. “Why?”

Rhodey couldn’t say that he’d wanted the meet the kid that could make Tony Stark go that soft, but he managed some semblance of the truth anyway. “Tony keeps telling me you’re the future of the Avengers–– _and_ that you’re thinking MIT for college. Between the two, I knew I had to meet you.”

It was hard to tell whether Peter was blushing or just feverish. “I am thinking about MIT. Or maybe Columbia.”

“Both good schools,” Rhodey said. “But I’m partial.”

“Come on, kid,” Tony broke in. “You need to drink that and crack a Gatorade before you can sleep. Maybe eat a couple of the saltines. Otherwise Rhodey’s going to have to run an IV, and I think we’d both rather not have to explain that to your aunt.”

Peter made a face. “Yeah, okay.” He took a determined sip of ginger ale. 

It took a long time, but eventually Peter drained the glass, He’d eaten three or four crackers by then, too. Tony brought him a bottle of Gatorade, but he was nearly asleep by then, too groggy to even hold it without risk of spilling. “M’srr St’rk, please,” he mumbled, eyes mostly shut. “‘M so tired. So tired.”

“Okay, fine,” Tony sighed, and took the Gatorade from him. “It’s right by your bed, all right?” He helped Peter shift down. “Rhodey and I will be in the living room, okay? You have nothing to worry about. We’re right outside your door.”

“Hmm,” Peter mumbled, sounding mostly asleep already. Rhodey watched, fascinated, as Tony brushed a hand over Peter’s forehead; he half-expected Tony to kiss Peter’s forehead. 

Tony straightened up and gestured for Rhodey to follow him out. He pulled the door mostly shut behind him, and the two of them looked at each other.

“Ice cream?” Rhodey suggested. 

Tony drew a deep breath and let it out. “Sweet Jesus, yes.”

***

By three in the morning, the last of the mint chip was melting in its container on the Parkers’ coffee table. Rhodey and Tony had finished _Ocean’s Eleven_ and had a slightly delirious argument about what to watch next, which dissolved into nothing once Rhodey spied a chess set on the living room shelf. In his exhausted sugar-high, he challenged Tony to a match. 

That was never, ever a good idea, and he remembered why within about about five moves. No one beat Tony Stark at chess. Tony Stark probably probably could have been a chess champion, if Howard Stark hadn’t deemed it a “weak” hobby, unsuitable for any son of his. 

“Checkmate.”

“Goddammit,” Rhodey groaned, just as the door to Peter’s room burst open. 

“Pete?” Tony said, as Peter stumbled out. He lurched into the bathroom. There was a clatter, followed by the sound of retching. “Shit,” Tony said, lurching to his feet. 

“Do you need––”

“I’ve got him. Have some ginger ale ready, will you?”

“Sure,” Rhodey said. He went into the kitchen, while Tony went into the bathroom and shut the door. Rhodey poured a glass of ginger ale, and put a couple of saltines on a plate. Then he leaned against the counter and waited. 

About ten minutes later, the door to the bathroom cracked open. “Rhodey?” Tony called. 

Rhodey grabbed the ginger ale and stuck his head in. They were on the floor again, but this time Tony had had the good sense to wedge himself into the corner between the wall and the tub, so at least he had something holding him up. Peter was lying on the floor with his head in Tony’s lap, Tony stroking his hair gently. “Hey, you two,” Rhodey said. “Someone asked for ginger ale?”

“Thanks,” Tony said, taking the glass and the plate from him. “Could you get the blanket off the foot of Peter’s bed and bring it in here?” He rubbed a hand up and down Peter’s bicep. 

“Sure,” Rhodey said, and went to get it. It was a t-shirt quilt and clearly a much loved item. It was obviously handmade––hand-patched in a few places, too. 

“Thanks,” Tony said, helping Rhodey spread the quilt out over Peter. Curled up as he was, Peter just about fit under it.

“How’re you feeling, Peter?” Rhodey asked, retreating to the doorway. 

“Not good,” Peter mumbled, pressing his face into the quilt. 

Tony shot Rhodey an apologetic look. “I think we might be here a while.”

Peter stirred sluggishly. “You don’t have to––”

“Yeah, he does, Peter,” Rhodey said. “No worries, Tones. I should get a couple hours shut-eye anyway. I’m getting kind of old to pull an all-nighter.”

Tony nodded. “When do you need to leave by?”

“0630,” Rhodey said. 

“You’ll say goodbye before you go?” 

Rhodey smiled at him. “Of course. Let me know if you need anything, all right?”

“I will. Thanks, Rhodey.”

Rhodey shut the door to the bathroom behind him. He tidied up a few things in the kitchen and checked on the Jello––it was wobbling nicely, he was glad to see. Hopefully the kid would be in some sort of shape to appreciate it tomorrow. He set the alarm on his phone for quarter past six, then turned the lights off and stretched out on the sofa under a throw that was only slightly less threadbare than the kid’s t-shirt quilt. 

It felt like he’d just closed his eyes when his alarm went off. He groaned, fumbling for it, and tried to remember where the hell he was. Peter’s apartment. _Tony’s kid’s_ apartment. Right. 

He felt hungover even though all he’d had was two drinks and a lot of ice cream. The bathroom was free, so he peed and splashed some water on his face. He’d have to wait to get his first cup of coffee on base, but he’d survive. The suit more or less flew itself, which was a good thing on mornings like this one. 

The door to Peter’s room was just barely open. Rhodey eased it open the rest of the way and stopped short. Tony had fallen asleep sitting up against the headboard, head tilted to the side, mouth open and snoring slightly. Peter was asleep on Tony’s far side, tucked under the covers with his face smashed into Tony’s waist and his arm thrown across him. One of Tony’s hands was curled around the back of Peter’s neck and head, as though he’d passed out in the middle of stroking Peter’s hair. 

Rhodey decided this _had_ to be recorded for posterity. He pulled his phone out and took several photos in a row. The light wasn’t great and he couldn’t use flash, but he’d send them to Tony at the very least. 

He didn’t want to wake the kid up, but he’d promised Tony he wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye. He tiptoed over and very gently shook Tony’s shoulder. “Tones,” he whispered. 

“Mmm. What?”

“I have to head out.”

“What? Oh.” Tony blinked at him. “Oh, right.” He looked down at the kid. “Hang on, let me extricate myself and I’ll walk you up to the roof.”

“You don’t have to.”

“No, it’s okay.” Tony eased himself slowly out from underneath the kid’s arm. Peter mumbled something unintelligible, but Tony slipped a pillow into his arms, and Peter stilled. 

Dawn was breaking over the city as they emerged onto the roof. It would be a beautiful, clear morning for flying––cold, but once Rhodey was in the suit, he wouldn’t notice. 

“Thanks for coming,” Tony said. “Sorry that everything got derailed.”

“Don’t worry about that, seriously,” Rhodey replied. “I’m glad I got to meet Peter. He’s a great kid.”

“I know,” Tony said, looking just a little smug. 

“And...” Rhodey hesitated, then decided to go for it. “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but––I’m really fucking proud of you, man.”

“Proud of me?” Tony repeated. 

“Yeah. I know a lot of this is uncharted territory for you, but you seem like you’ve gone all in. And i’m really proud of you for that.”

Tony looked away for a moment, staring out over the rooftops of Queens. Distantly, one of the above-ground trains rattled its way toward Manhattan. Then he looked back. “I am,” he said quietly. “All in for him, I mean. It scares me a little.”

“I know it does,” Rhodey said softly. “That’s why I’m proud of you. C’mere.” He pulled Tony into a hug and held on just a little bit longer than usual. “You’re great with him,” he said into Tony’s ear. “Stop worrying he’s going to find out who you really are and leave, because who you really are is exactly who he needs, all right?”

Tony nodded mutely. His eyes were suspiciously bright, Rhodey noticed, as he pulled away. Tony watched him activate the suit, and Rhodey saw his eyes flit from head to toe, logging who-knew-what––imperfections, maybe, or new ideas for upgrades. Anything was possible with Tony Stark. 

Tony cleared his throat. “I’ll see you soon. Fly safe, all right?”

“You, too, Tones,” Rhodey said, and launched himself into the cold New York morning. 

_Fin._


End file.
